ISHMAEL 


AND 

OTHER    ESS  A  YS 
IN  VERSE 


HCRBY 


^ 


GIFT   OF 


ilsljmarl 

AND 

OTHER  ESSAYS 


IN     VERSE 


BY 
N.  J.  HERBY 


1917 
DeWitt  and  Snelling 

OAKLAND.  CALIFORNIA 


N|  CONTENTS. 


Dedication  1 

Life  2 

Ishmael  3 

To  A  Woman  7 

The  Choice  8 

Buffalo  Bill's  Last  Ride  9 

Apostrophe  10 

Robert  G.   Ingersoll  12 

Poland  13 

Genius  14 

Hail  Glorious  Flag  15 

To  Adele  Aus  Der  Ohe  16 

Twilight  17 

The  Answer  Of  The  Gods  18 

The  Undertow      —  19 

Totila  20 

Convention  21 

Thos.   H.   Huxley  22 

My  Butterfly  23 

Knowledge  24 

To  A  Young  Lady  25 

Spring  26 

Woodrow  Wilson  27 

Death  Of  The  Poet  28 

The  Muse  29 

Charlotte  Gruenhagen  30 

Night  31 

The  Water  Maid  33 

Bertha  Bell  34 

To  A.  B.  C       -  35 

Ingeborg  36 

The  Earth  And  The  Moon  38 

Only  39 

Voices  40 

Death  41 

377448 


"Shall  Lest  I  guard  Her  Hallowed  light 
By  sheltered  service  on  her  towVs, 
Or  strife  with  Mammon  and  the  pow'ra 
That  hold  humanity  in  night?" 

George  Sterling 


'DEDICATION. 

As  flies  the  homing  bird  at  eventide 
Against  the  setting  sun,  and  will  abide 
In  110  unwonted  place,  intent  to  rest 
Contented  in  its  own,  though  rough-made,  nest; 

So  fly,  my  song  bird,  on  the  wings  of  Night 
Or  Day  across  the  world  but  to  alight 
And  build  your  cherished  home  within  the  heart 
Of  those  who  love  the  strains  you  may  impart. 

In  youth  I  found  you  by  the  wayside,  weak, 
With  ungrown  wings,  when  from  your  chirping  beak 
I  could  but  faintly  hope  you  might  belong 
To  those  whose  mission  is  the  Art  of  Song. 

And  as  I  send  you  on  your  wing-borne  way 
Untaught,  half-fed,  yet  would  I  hope  you  may 
Where  e'er  you  fly  some  little  comfort  bring. 
And  find  a  friend  that  loves  to  hear  you  sing. 


LIFE. 

A  life,  they  say,  is  but  a  graven  chart 

In  the  engraver's  hand.  Its  features  show 

Here  smiling  landscapes,  bright  as  childhood's  glow, 

There  luscious  orchards,  nursed  by  Nature's  art. 

In  scented  vales  rest  Hope  and  Love,  where  part 

The  rugged  mountain  peaks  that  shadows  throw, 
oo  r 

Cooling  the  dale.   Beneath  in  cadence  flow 
The  subterranean  rivers  of  the  heart. 

And  here,  enclosed  in  heavy  lines,  appear 

The  contours  of  a  bleak  Sahara's  sands; 

While  round  the  coast  the  maelstrom's  waters  lave. 

But  by  the  sunny  sea  where  sailors  steer 
Rich  laden  vessels  back  from  distant  lands, 
Sits  beckoning  on  the  shore  the  silent  Grave. 


ISHMAEL. 

I  am  the  war-lord!   Master  of  the  world  am  I; 
I  stride  the  land,  I  wade  the  sea,  and  from  the  sky 
I  hurl  my  messenger  of  death  on  cowering  town 
To  kill,  to  maim,  to  starve,  to  burn.   My  royal  frown 
Shall  palsy  all  in  fear.    And  my  imperial  arm 
Shall  wither  field  and  orchard,  and  despoil  the  farm. 
And  on  the  future's  tablets  shall  be  writ  my  name 
Where  it  shall  shine  with  God's  and  with  illustrious 
fame. 

No  Alexander,  Cyrus,  Pyrrhus,  Hannibal, 
Or  Ceasar,  or  Napoleon,  or  other  shall 
Approach  my  star  of  glory.   For  I  stand  a  hero 
Above  the  great  Domitian,  Herod,  and  Nero. 
Their  little  cruelties  were  childish,  few,  and  small 
When  measured  by  my  labors  in  Ambition's  call. 

What!  There  is  my  crown  which  I  have  held  from 

Godagift, 

And  to  my  heirs  with  final  glory  hoped  to  shift. 
How  come  before  my  soul  these  apparitions  strange? 
My  crown,  its  golden  lustre  lately  seems  to  change 
And  fade,  and  in  its  flaming  jewels  must  I  see 
The  agony  of  death,  and  hear  the  sufferer's  plea? 

O,  Horror!  Comes  again  unbid  the  cruel  sight 

Of  sinking  Lusitania!  In  the  murky  night 

A  sudden  consternation,  and  the  quivering  ship 

Stagger  and  lurch  and  plunge  as  if  it  felt  the  grip 

Of  death  in  watery  deeps,  with  clammy  arms  that  fold 

About  its  victim  like  a  python's  deadly  hold. 


I  see  upon  the  sinking  ship  the  deep  despair 
Of  mothers,  fathers,  children;  and  I  hear  the  prayer 
Of  agony  and  death.  Go,  go,  thou  crown,  away, 
I  am  the  war-lord,  I  command  thee,  go,  obey! 

0  God!  There  in  another  jewel's  flash  appear 

A  thousand  imps  of  vengeful  Hell  that  jibe  and  jeer 
And  point  accusing  fingers  to  the  fruitless  fields 
Of  France  and  Belgium.  'Tis  but  Destiny  that  wields 
The  scourge  of  war.  I,  I  am  guiltless  of  the  blood 
That  cries  to  Heaven  of  vengeance  for  Life's  ebbing 
flood! 

1  am  the  ruler  of  the  earth!  Why  should  the  rays 
Of  baubles  so  disturb  me,  that  the  passing  days 

Are  pictured  terrors,  and  the  sleepless  nights  are  filled 
With  awful  shrieks  until  my  bone  and  blood  are 

chilled? 

Away,  away,  dread  crown!  I  will  not  look  again. 
Ah!  But  I  must.  Thou  drawest  me  with  resistless  strain. 
There,  must  I  see  again  the  soul-consuming  show, 
The  peaceful  villages  with  burning  shells  aglow; 
And  shattered,  shapeless  bodies  to  my  vision  come, 
And  bleaching  sculls  upon  the  hillslopes  of  Mort 

Homme! 

God!  Must  I  look  once  more  into  the  jewel's  glare, 
And  see  the  Polish  plains  deserted,  burnt,  and  bare; 
And  homeless  men  that  hopeless  rove,  who  yesterday 
Plowed  peaceful,  fertile  fields,  and  saw  their  children 


Who  trudge  and  stare  today  with  wan  and  vacant  eye, 
While  to  the  suckling  babe  the  mother's  breasts  are 
dry? 


What  of  it  then?  Who  prate  of  useless  paper  scraps, 
Of  treaties  torn  and  broken?  Know  they  not,  perhaps, 
That  strength  is  justice,  power  is  equity,  and  we 
Are  but  the  God-made  arbiters  of  Destiny? 

Ah!  Now  another  jewel  in  its  treacherous  light 
Brings  to  my  harrowed  mind  and  helpless  eye  the  sight 
Of  driven,  sullen  slaves  from  ravished  lands;  whose  lot 
Is  that  of  laggard,  dull,  yoked  cattle.  Well,  why  not? 
I  am  dictator.   If  it  be  my  royal  will 
To  tell  my  oath-bound  minion  he  must  murder,  kill, 
He  shall  rejoicing  slau  his  father,  sister,  brother 
And  lay  unholy  hand  upon  his  trusting  mother, 
If  I  command.   I  hold  the  regency  of  God; 
I  am  the  bearer  of  his  sceptre  and  his  rod. 

He  by  my  hand  shall  "strafe"  all  the  foes  that  dare 
Raise  impious  hand  'gainst  him  and  me;  let  them  be 
ware. 

God's  vengeance  soon  shall  smite  them,  hip  and  thigh, 
As  smites  the  lightning's  bolt  from  out  the  leaden  sky. 
To  zenith  heights  my  glory  shall  be  flashing  forth 
As  flashes  the  aurora  of  the  wintry  North! 

O  God,  Great  God!  Yet  must  I  see  torn  limb  from 

limb 

Sweet,  cooing  babes.  Still  in  the  jewel's  glare  the  grim 
Accursed  Lusitania!  And  its  visions  bring 
The  cutting  sword  of  conscience,  like  a  poisoned 

sting. 


The  myriad  dead,  whose  hollow  eyes  in  vengeance  stare 

Into  my  soul  with  hateful  gleam  as  if  to  tear 

My  heart.  While  bony  Famine  stalks  throughout  the 

realm, 
And  on  the  sea  sits  grinning  Death  beside  the  helm. 

O,  that  I  were  one  of  the  laborers  that  come 
At  dusk  with  tired  and  trudging  steps  toward  the  home, 
To  eat  the  simple  evening  meal  upon  the  board, 
And  talk  of  sheep  and  cattle,  hay  and  harvest's  hoard. 
God,  might  I  have  one  hour  such  restful  peace  as  they, 
Just  one  short  hour,  O  God!  Do  grant  me  this,  I  pray. 
One  hour,  that  I  might  feel  again  the  innocence 
Of  childhood's  care  free  days,  and  cast  these  tortures 
hence. 

Thou  answerest  not,  O  God!  Am  I,  then,  Ishmael 
Whose  hand  is  raised  against  the  world:  on  whom  there 

fell 

The  hand  of  all  Humanity?  The  curse  of  Cain 
Upon  my  head,  and  on  my  hand  the  crimson  stain 
Of  ravished  innocence?  O,  Moloch,  Ahriman, 
And  Bel  ,  and  Typhon,  hear  ye,  then,  my  plea,  and 

span 

And  gird  the  earth  with  cruelties  and  pains  so  new 
And  fierce  that  in  imagination's  soil  there  grew 
No  so  luxurious  flowers;  and  in  deep  Tartarus 
Such  tortures  were  unboasted.  Ah!  What  ominous, 
Prophetic  writing  in  the  ruby  do  I  read, 
That:  "Mene,  mene,  tekel . . .  ?"  By  high  Heaven  I 

plead, 

It  is  the  crown,  the  crown;  God!  Do  not  crucify 
An  innocent!  It  is  the  crown,  not  I,  not  I." 


TO  A  WOMAN. 

Sweet  woman!  When  I  met  you  Heart  to  heart 
The  hidden  powers  within  the  world  I  knew 
That  move  the  atom  and  that  downward  drew 
The  stars  from  out  the  welkin's  farthest  part. 

The  powers  that  move  the  world  on  busy  mart, 
And  at  creation's  dawn  enquickening  blew 
The  breath  of  life;  and  from  whose   seeds  there  grew 
The  Soul's  desire  in  beauty  and  in  art. 

Yet  out  of  all  the  women  you  alone, 

It  seemed,  Love's  ecstacy  so  could  enthrone 

As  would  Life's  yearnings  fully  satisfy. 

And  to  resist  your  charm  'twere  sin  to  try, 
For  in  your  eye's  compelling  depth  I  see 
All  forces  welded  into  unity. 


THE  CHOICE. 

Ye  Powers  of  Earth!  Ye  Beauties  of  the  World! 
Come  hither,   speak   of  Beauty,   Strength,   and  all; 
And   thou   that  wert  from   the  Celestials  hurled, 
Show  me  the  grandeur  that  obeys  thy  call. 

Show  ye  to  me  the  glories  of  the  Sun, 

When  heams  of  Morning's  light  translucent  glow; 

Or  at  his  noon,  or,  eventide  begun, 

When  on  the  Ocean's  brow  his  raylets  flow. 

Or  show  ye  then  to  me  the  subtle  Air, 

That  balms  all  creatures  of  the  Earth  and  Sea; 

The  mighty  Hurricane,   whither  it  fere, 

As  Lightnings  Vulcan-strong  flash  o'er  the  lea. 

Or  then  the  gorgeous,  varied  flowers  that  blow 
In  spring  and  summer,  and  the  Woods  and  Fields; 
How  these  their  grace  with  lavish  hand  bestow, 
And  each  to  hut  or  palace  beauty  yields. 

Or  when  the  Night  receives  with  open  arms 
Her  countless  children,  glittering  far  in  space, 
Pressing,  while  Moonlight  spreads  its  witching  charms, 
Them  to  her  bosom  in  a  fend  embrace. 

My  Love,  for  whose  embrace  I  scorn  high  Heaven 
And  laugh  at  Hell,   is  more  than  all;   for  she 
To  whom  Love's  sacred,  matchless  power  was  given, 
Is  lovelier  than  all  the  World  to  me. 


'BUFFALO  BILL'S  LAST  RIDE. 

A  messenger  rode  with  the  eagle's  speed 
Across  the  plain  on  his  dust  gray  steed; 
Shouted  to  those  on  the  village  green: 
"The  redskins  come.  They  are  painted  to  kill. 
Does  any  one  know,  or  has  any  one  seen 
Where  is  Buffalo  Bill?" 

And  one  of  the  crowd,  there,  lifted  his  hand 
To  his  broad  brimmed  hat  with  its  leathern  bend 
As,  shading  his  eyes  turning  toward  the  west, 
He  looked  at  his  guns.   "I  see  on  the  hill 
There  's  going  to  be  fun.  They  are  passing  the  crest," 
Said  Buffalo  Bill. 

And  swiftly  he  galloped,  nor  deigned  to  wait 
For  others  to  fellow,  or  man  or  mate; 
For  when  he  levelled  unerring  gun 
The  redskins  knew  it  was  sure  to  kill. 
They  yelled:  "Turn  back  to  the  setting  sun; 
It  'a  Buffalo  Bill." 

And  when  there  appeared  from  the  Stygian  shore 
A  charger  whose  bridle  was  red  with  gore, 
The  old  scout  nodded,  and,  grasping  the  rein, 
Sprang  into  the  saddle  and  then  with  a  will 
Through  the  Dale  of  Death  into  Manitou's  plain 
Rode  Buffalo  Bill. 


APOSTROPHE. 

God  of  the  Universe!  Hast  turned  Thine  ear 

Away  from  Earth's  despair?  Darest  Thou  not  hear 

The  awful  shrieks,  the  triumph  shouts,  the  roar 

Of  all  the  furious  World,  that  rise  before 

The  firelit  Heaven?  Hearest  not  the  mother's  groans 

Beside  her  dying  child,  whose  low  moans 

Attest  the  waning  life?  Helpless  she  kneels 

Kissing  the  shell-torn  body.  Crushed,  she  feels 

Injustice  pitiless,  as  with  its  hand 

It  scatters  misery  throughout  the  land, 

Stifling  all  living  things.  Hearest  not,  O  God, 

The  screams  or  children,  whom  the  War-Gods  trod 

With  scornful  heel?  Hearest  not  the  last,  low  sigh 

Come  from  the  lovely  maid,  within  whose  eye 

There  glow  e'en  unto  death  the  fires  that  burn 

For  him  she  loves,  and  for  his  hoped  return? 

Hearest  Thou  the  lying  of  the  war-lord's  tool, 
The  jumbled  gibbering  of  the  mitred  fool 
For  victory?  As  if  the  length  of  swords 
Measured  world-justice  and  the  truth  of  words! 

Or  is,  O  God,  Thine  eye  by  age  grown  dim 
Thou  seest  not  on  the  welkin's  blood  red  rim 
The  murder  spear,  by  Mars  in  fury  hurled 

the  bared  breast  of  a  helpless  World? 
The  gaping  trenches,  like  the  mouth  of  Bel, 
Opening  to  swallow  in  the  maw  of  Hell 
The  sons  of  men?  Seest  not  the  fertile  fields 
Sown  with  the  hatred  of  the  war  eagle's  shields? 
The  bird  of  battle  hovering  o'er  his  prey, 
Spewing  fire-venom,  rejoicing  when  he  slay? 


10 


And  seest  Thou  not  the  iron  swordfish  dive 
With  joyous  grin  beneath  the  wave  and  drive 
Into  the  staunch  leviathan  his  steel, 
Piercing  its  heart?  Nor  in  his  conscience  feel 
Remorse;  but  music  to  his  Vandal  ears 
Are  prayers  of  agony,  and  shrieks,  and  tears. 

Or  is  the  poisoned  air  the  last,  foul  breath 

Of  War-Gods  in  their  insane  dance  of  death? 

And  is  the  burning  city's  ghastly  light, 

Spreading  its  gruesome  fire-tongues  through  the  night 

Freedom's  and  Brotherhood's  heaven-holy  fire; 

Kings',  emperors',  tyrants',  final  funeral  pyre? 

Or  is,  Great  God,  this  fnghtfulness  the  fell 

Appearance  of  a  passing,  deadly  spell, 

That  is  to  Gods  a  game  of  chess,  with  pawns 

Moved  forth  on  Cruelty's  unfeeling  lawns? 

Or  shall  this  pregnant  Madness  soon  give  birth 

To  a  regenerated,  free-made  Earth? 


11 


ROBERT  G.  INGERSOLL. 

IN     MEMORIAM. 

Upon  a  precipice  the  Lion  lay, 
Divinest  of  all  creatures  on  the  sphere; 
Tranquil  and  strong  and  true,   nor  knowing  fear. 
Unmoved  he  was  hy  noisu  dogs  that  bay 

The  moon.   Beneath  the  precipice  the  graij, 
Thick  clouds  of  clamor  rose  against  the  ear: 
"Blasphemies  on  his  Godless  face  appear; 
Ha!  We  will  kill  him  at  the  break  of  day!" 

And  so  the  baiting  beasts  the  coming  morn 
Gathered  about.  And  on  the  breeze  were  borne 
Reverberating  echoes  of  their  hate. 

But  slunk  away  within  the  kennel's  gate 

The  hounds.  For  when  the  Lion  turned  his  head 

The  yelping  pack  in  coward  terror  fled. 


12 


-POLAND. 

Hark!  Ye  sons  of  Poland,  to  the  winds  that  softly 

blow, 
Scented  zephyrs  from  the  fields  where  Freedom's 

blossoms  grow. 

Listen  to  the  voices  whispered  over  moor  and  fen: 
"Back  to  Poland's  soil  is  coming  Liberty  again." 

Lo!  Thy  brother  stands  there,  Poland,  grasping  Free 
dom's  hand; 

And  the  crown,  blood-rusted,  shall  be  banished  from 
thy  land. 

And  the  children  of  thy  mothers  shall  be  freemen 
when 

Back  to  Poland's  soil  is  coming  Liberty  again. 

See  the  Vistula  uneasy  under  tyrant's  oar; 
Hear  its  gentle  murmur  rising  to  a  thund'rous  roar. 
'Tis  the  sone  of  triumph  sung  to  freedom-loving  men: 
"Back  to  Poland's  soil  is  coming  Liberty  again." 

Hark!  Ye  sons  of  Poland,  hark,  ye  mothers,  maid 
ens,  boys; 

For  Democracy  is  singing  with  exultant  voice. 

And  the  Polish  Breeze  is  proudly  whisp'ring  this  re 
frain: 

"Back  to  Poland's  soil  is  coming  Liberty  again." 


13 


gENIUS. 

As  leaps  the  Stream  the  tall  clifPs  edge,   ice  cold 
And  crystal  clear,   the  mighty  Glacier's  child, 
Profusely  sprinkling  rocks  btj  Aeons  piled, 
Then  with  increasing  swiftness  plunges  bold 

Into  the  waiting  Deep's  enclosing  fold 
And,   eddying,   dimpled,  clear,  flows  undefiled 
In  gently  gliding  curves  'mid  flowers  wild, 
To  thirsting  Plants  a  life  stream  pure  as  gold. 

Thus  Genius  leaps  from  unpolluted  spheres; 
Regarding  nor  the  clamors  nor  the  cheers 
From  multitudes  that  near  its  channel  play. 

Unmoved  it  passes  on  its  tranquil  way; 

Refreshing  with  life-giving  nectar  all 

The  thirsty  Souls  that  heed  its  quickening  call. 


HAIL,  GLORIOUS  FLAG! 

Hail,  Glorious  Flag!  The  United  States 

Has  walked  with  thee  through  Freedom's  gates; 

American  men  salute  thy  stars 

To  break  forever  Oppression's  bars. 

Hail,   Glorious   Flag!   Thy  stripes  shall  stand 

Equality's  emblem  in  every  land; 

With  American  men  inspired  to  fight 

For  world-wide  justice,  for  Truth  and  Right. 

Hail,  Glorious  Flag!  Where  thy  folds  were  spread 
The  thrones  have  tottered  and  Tyranny  fled; 
For  American  men  stand  staunch  and  true 
Where  wave  thy  colors,  Red,  White,  and  Blue. 

Hail,  Glorious  Flag!   On  land  and  sea 
American  men  the  guides  shall  be 
That  lead  the  people  from  Thralldom's  chain 
To  Liberty's  mountain  and  Freedom's  plain. 


15 


TO  ADELE  AUS  DER  OHE. 

Charmer  of  human  souls,  O  Music  sweet! 
Deep-rooted  Ygdrasil,  with  branches  far 
Up-reaching  to  the  Azure's  farthest  star! 
Touched  soul  to  soul,  within  thy  compass  meet 

The  deep-stirred  Hearts  of  nations;  and  all  greet 
Thy  favorite.  No  notes  of  discord  mar 
The  dulcet  sounds  that  float  across  the  bar, 
Whose  waves  to  Music's  rhytmic  cadence  beat. 

From  out  her  instrument  about  us  soar 
Voices  of  distant  thunder's  rising  roar; 
Again  she  plucks  with  gentlest  touch  of  hand 

Exquisite  notes  of  mild  and  tender  tones; 

Like  floating  rose  leaves,  picked  in  southern  zones 

And  strewn  by  children's  fingers  o'er  the  land. 


16 


TWILIGHT. 

When  the  sun  sets 

And  his  last  raylet  frets 

With  glittering  spears  the  western  sky; 

Fantastic  shrouds 

Woven  from  darkening  clouds 

Low  on  the  outstretched  Heavens  lie. 

The  Mountain  stands 

And  holds  with  reaching  hands 

The  sunlight  on  its  seaward  side; 

As  if  its  Heart 

Refused  with  day  to  part, 

And  feared  the  distant,  droning  tide. 

Then  slowly  rise 

Against  the  murky  skies 

The  silhouettes  of  the  naked  pines 

On  yonder  hills. 

Weird  mist  the  canyon  fills, 

And  thought  to  fancies  strange  inclines. 

Stealthily  come 

From  their  abysmal  home 

The  playful  Spirits  of  the  Night. 

The  hiding  scroll 

From  Heaven's  lamps  they  roll, 

And  fill  the  world  with  mystic  light. 


17 


THE  ANSWER  OF  THE  GODS. 

Beyond  the  confines  of  remotest  stars 
Where  blackness  inconceivable  controls, 
Beyond  where  sunlight  shimmers  on  the  bars 
Of  Morning's  gate;  and  where  untiring  rolls 

Swift  Sirius,  I  prayed.  The  answer  came: 
"Within  each  atom  is  from  you  concealed 
A  universe  of  suns.  A  world  the  same 
With  moons  and  planets  circling  unrevealed. 

The  stars  which  you  with  reverent  eye  behold 

Throughout  illimitable,  eternal  space 

Are  dust  from  God's  ethereal  flowers  that  fold 

Their  petals  in  the  cosmic    Night's  embrace. 
For  limitless  are  both  the  great  and  small, 
And  God  is  All  in  One  and  One  in  All." 


18 


THE  UNDERTOW. 

At  twilight  I  sit  by  the  sea; 

The  sluggish  waves  roll  to  and  fro; 

A  low  diapason  I  hear- 

The  voice  of  the  calm  undertow; 

The  buzz  oF  the  day  not  yet  passed, 

Recurrent  its  tides  ebb  and  flow 

On  the  shore  of  the  weary,  worn  mind- 

I  wait  for  the  calm  undertow. 


19 


TOTILA. 

When  Asbad  raised  his  spear  in  thrusting  poise 
He  heard  with  fiendish  glee  the  indignant  voice: 
"Basest  of  dogs.  Would  you  your  master  kill?" 
And  felt  his  demon  heart  within  him  thrill, 

And  harder  threw  the  spear.   He  pierced  the  man 
Who  in  the  fights  was  foremost  in  the  van; 
Who  was  as  far  beyond  his  savage  day 
As  is  the  sun's  beyond  the  pale  moon's  ray; 

Who  had  to  friend  and  foe  a  manly  heart, 

Scorning  deceit,  despising  cunning  art. 

He,  loved  by  all  the  honest  men  and  brave, 

Was  placed  within  a  common,  dismal  grave. 
His  tomb,  though  robbed  of  his  sepulchral  cloths 
Yet  keeps  the  best  and  greatest  of  the  Goths. 


20 


CONVENTION. 

When  Adam  walked  along  the  bank,  he  threw  a 

wistful  eye 
On  Eve's  sweet  form  of  womanhood,  and  heaved  a 

deep,  deep  sigh; 
Then  holdly  asked  her  for  a  walk.    She  stammered, 

blushed,  confused: 
"Why,  oh!  but,  how?  I  mean,  I  think,  -we've  not 

been  introduced." 


21 


THOS.  H.  HUXLEY. 

IN     MEMORIAM. 

Thou,  too,  great  master,  passed  to  final  rest 
Where  myriad  kindred  went  their  way  before; 
Nor  didst  thou  fear  Nirvana's  silent  shore, 
Following  glad  thy  mother's  stern  request. 

Wouldst  say:    "To  Nature's  purpose  it  was  best?" 
But  thou  with  Titan  shoulder  ever  more 
Pressed  hard  against  the  slowly  yielding  door 
Of  knowledge,  to  obtain  its  perfect  test. 

Truth  was  thy  all  in  all,  more  than  thy  life; 
Slowly  she  grew,   as  grows  a  trembling  vine, 
Until  thou,  fearless,  made  her  battle  thine. 

A  giant  in  the  long,   rewardless  strife 
Thou  stoodst.   Fearing  thy  keen  Ithuriel 
Phantoms  of  Dread  and  Darkness  fled  or  fell. 


22 


MY  BUTTERFLY. 

In  the  sun's  clear,  shining  ray 
Flitted  through  the  summer  day 
A  bright  butterfly  and  gay. 

All   my  soul   in  gentle  sway 
Held  she.   Would  it  not  allay 
Heartaches  if  I  caught  her,  pray? 

On  a  rose  she  perched  to  play, 
Promised  she  would  ever  stay, 
Nor  to  distant  flowers  stray. 

Did  she  wrong?  I  cannot  say, 
In  the  twilight's  dusky  gray 
Vanished  she  far,   far  away. 


23 


KNOWLEDGE. 

While  ages  roll  their  wonted  course  amid 
Those  worlds  of  worlds  whose  grandeur  we  conceive 
But  in  the  least  degree;  while  men  but  weave 
Escapes  from  burdens  Life  so  wisely  bid; 

While  kingdoms  rise  and  fall;  yet  is  the  lid 
Not  lifted  off  true  knowledge.  Men  believe; 
But;  then,  perhaps  they  but  themselves  deceive, 
For  grudgingly  tells  Nature  what  she  hid. 

Why,  then,  should  man  his  ignorance  disguise, 
And  feign  to  know  what  never  mortal  knew? 
Why  should  he  not  confess:  "All  to  my  eyes 

Alike  is  wondrous,  mountains,  morning's  dew? 
The  'Great  First  Cause'  I  cannot  e'en  surmise, 
Nor  know  I  whence  came  first  the  stamj  Blue." 


24 


TO  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

Safe  from  the  ocean's  spray, 
Nestling  among  rock-bosomed  hills, 
Where  play  the  ever  laughing  Rills, 
A  peaceful  garden  lay. 

Among  its  shady  bowers 
Spreading  its  fragrance  sweet  there  grew 
A  rose  as  fresh  as  morning's  dew  - 
The  loveliest  of  flowers. 

Winter  his  wonted  wiles 
In  reverence  to  its  beauty  stayed, 
For  on  its  dainty  bud  there  played 
But  nineteen  summers'  smiles. 

The  pausing  husbandman 
Said:  "If  I  might  transplant  this  rose 
Life  would  be  poetry,  not  prose." 
And  oft  he  paused  again. 

Yet  stands  this  flower  fair 
Unguarded  there;  nor  knowing  fear. 
Or  shall  perchance  the  twentieth  year 
Draw  round  it  tenderer  care? 


25 


SPRING. 

Lo!  The  bowers 

Stand  in  youthful  array; 

From  the  quickening  Soil  rise  the  Flowers, 

Raptured  drinking  the  day 

After  showers. 


26 


WOODROW  WILSON. 

Rises  the  Rock  t^bove  the  swirling  sea, 
Though  oft  the  cloak  of  turgid  waters  rolled 
Above  its  head  and  their  enstrangling  hold 
Seemed  but  Destruction's  treacherous  decree. 

However  violent  the  tempest  be, 
However  roaring  are  the  Waves  and  cold; 
The  storms  abate.   Again  the  Rock  shall  bold 
Stand  forth  immovable,  unconquered,  free. 

The  Gods  have  chosen  in  your  hand  to  place 
The  ftite  of  Empires,  that  your  pen  may  trace 
Unfading  lines  on  Right's  and  Duty's  scroll. 

More  sncred  judgment  awed  no  human  Soul 
Than  this.  Nor  prince  nor  potentate  till  now 
Such  laurels  bore  encrowned  upon  his  brow. 


27 


<DEATH  OF  THE  POET. 

An  artist  hewed  his  sculpture,  striking,  hold 
Into  a  promontory's  fearless  side 
As  fairies  brought  him   models  o'er  the  tide; 
His  chisel  ever  &ithful  to  the  mold. 

And  thus  the  story  of  the  heart  he  told- 
A  bas-relief,  a  gallery  world  wide; 
With  one  another  myriad  features  vied, 
Depicting  here  the  dross  and  there  the  gold. 

Thus  was  there  written  by  the  poet's  pen 
The  story  of  the  souls  and  hearts  of  men. 
But  when  the  Tomb  the  denerved  stylus  took 

There  was  no  sculptured  work  or  written  book 
Could  tell  bij  chisel's  or  by  writing's  art 
The  story  of  the  poet's  soul  and  heart. 


28 


THE   MUSE. 

When  I  was  young 

And  life's  hot  pulse  was  strong, 

I  saw  her  figure  lifting  tall; 

Now  o'er  the  moor 

Would  she  my  steps  allure, 

Sounding  her  soft,   enchanting  call. 

O'er  woodlands  now, 

Or  o'er  the  Mountain's  brow, 

Her  voice  enticing,  onward  drew; 

Umbrous  her  place 

Of  body,  but  her  fice 

Clear-limned  against  Olympus'  blue. 

Gently  her  arm 

Still  draws  with  beckoning  charm, 

And  love  of  her  my  heart-deep  fills; 

My  suit  nor  done 

Until  my  setting  sun 

Sinks  in  the  sea  beyond  the  hills. 


29 


CHARLOTTE  GRUENHAGEN. 

Gray-mantling  clouds    obscured  the  lingering  day 
And  draped  the  bier-laid  sunlight  as  a  pall, 
But  silently  disparted  at  the  fall 
Of  night,  and  brought  the  youthful  sky  of  May. 

Stirred  was  all  Nature  by  the  witching  play 
Of  Charlotte  Gruenhagen.  Rising  tall, 
Music's  sweet  Spirit  leaped  apathy's  wall, 
And  on  the  sad  a  wreath  of  gladness  lay. 

No,  tell  me  not  it  was  the  violin's  sound 
That  thrilled  alone.   Her  beauty,  crystallized, 
Timbred  the  tones  that  drew  all  hearts  around; 

As  draws  the  steel,  tempered  and  magnetized, 
The  iron  core.   From  Heaven  it  seemed  there  fell 
Sweet  harmonies  in  an  enchanting  spell. 


30 


WIGHT. 

Night,   Still,  Charming  Night. 
Opening  thy  volume  from  haunts  of  the  east 
After  the  turmoils  of  daylight  have  ceased 
Callest  thou  gently  to  rest  man  and  beast, 
Night,   Still,   Charming  Night. 

Night,  Infinite  Night. 

Wrapped  in   thy  majesty,  awful,   sublime, 

Thou  wrapp'st  in  rev'rence  each  country  and  clime, 

Leav'st  in   thy  path  never  landmarks  of  time, 

Night,   Infinite  Night. 

Night,   Beautiful  Night. 

O'er  thy  wide  bosom  the  bright  gems  are  flung, 
Torches  that  'neath  the  arched  Heavens  are  hung, 
Harps  that  with  silvery  chords  thou  hast  strung, 
Night,   Beautiful  Night. 

Night,  Deep,  Silent  Night. 

Seem  they  more  awful,  the  still  midnight  hours, 

That  when  thy  breath  moves  the  leaf  in  the  bowers 

Feel  we  thy  Spirit  on  soft  zephyrs  hovers, 

Night,   Deep,  Silent 'Night. 

Night,  Answerless  Night. 

Into  thij  infinite  realms  oft  we  fling 

Heartfelt  emotions;  yet  thou  dost  not  bring 

Answer  again  on  ethereal  wing, 

Night,  Answerless  Night. 


31 


Night,   Sweet,   Soothing  Night. 
Still,  when  the  heart's  cup  of  anguish  overflows 
Soothes  thy  deep  stillness  and  grandeur  its  throes 
When  the  great  volume  of  day  thou  dost  close, 
Night,  Sweet,  Soothing  Night. 

Night,  Nirvanian  Night. 

Then  as  thou  lingering  movest  to  the  west, 

"Take  me  with  thee"  is  the  sick  Heart's  request, 

Vanishing  into  the  deep  sea  to  rest, 

Night,  Nirvanian  Night. 


32 


THE  WATER  MAID. 

She  steps  with  lifted  head  and  graceful  poise 
Toward  Tamalpais,  our  Guard  of  State 
And  Keeper  of  the  stone-hinged  Golden  Gate, 
While  with  his  weather-beaten  locks  she  toys. 

She  greets  with  musical  and  sea-soft  voice 
That  watchman  grau,  at  dawn  or  evening  late; 
As  greets  the  darting  bird  her  cliff-perched  mate, 
With  eye  and  wing  expressing  perfect  joys. 

From  out  the  heart-deep  of  the  southern  sea, 
Where  laughing  Waters  mock  the  amorous  Sun, 
The  flask  she  fills  with  nectar  pure  and  sweet. 

Each  uear  the  precious  draught  she  brings;  and  we 
Adore  the  maid.  Hills,  Valleys  joyful  run 
And  scatter  flowers  about  her  welcome  feet. 


BERTHA  BELL. 

Where  the  dell-crescent  turns  like  a  shell  to  the  sea, 
Where  in  age-hoary  oaks  builds  the  ever  busy  bee, 
Where  the  maple's  deep  shade  spreads  its  sombre, 

dark  veil 
My  sweet  Bertha  sleeps  peacefully,  tender  and  frail. 

Where  the  fern-girdled  knoll  bears  a  blossoming  vine, 
Where  the  branches  of  alder  and  birch  intertwine, 
WThere  the  robins  and  thrushes  their  soft  duets  play 
My  sweet  Beriha  sleeps  mild  as  a  blossom  in  May. 

Where  the  brook  babbles  forth  as  a  gay,  giggling  lass, 
Where  it  curves  round  her  tomb  to  the  sea's  swelling 

bass, 
Where  Forget-me-nots  blue-eyed  stand  guard  at  her 

grave 
My  sweet  Bertha  sleeps  soothed  by  the  brook's  cooing 

vave. 

Where  the  blue  sky  extends  and  the  white  cloudlets 

creep, 

Where  its  image  it  paints  in  the  sea's  concave  deep, 
Where  the  Breeze  sings  sad  requiems  through  bush 

and  tree 
My  sweet  Bertha  sleeps  near  by  the  deep-moaning  Sea. 


34 


TO  A.  B.  C. 

ON  HER  LEAVING  STANFORD  FOR  CORNELL. 

Why  should  we  be  so  selfish?   Yet  we  are, 
That  we  the  vantage  others  would  debar- 
To  live  within  the  pleasant  atmosphere 
Of  those  whose  friendship  so  we  value  here. 

And  with  the  dread  departure  seems  to  cloud 
The  sympathizing  Sky.  A  grayish  shroud 
Veils  close  our  oak-clad  hills;  our  very  Home 
Grows  dark,  disconsolate  until  you  come 

With  smile  again.    We,  each  a  heliothrope, 
Turn  to  Cornell;   whence  once  again  we  hope 
The  sun  for  us  '11  be  shining  in  the  east. 

When  friends  from  friends  at  last  must  part, 
Fraternal  Love  stands  forth  disdaining  art 
And  claims  all  to  himself  affection's  feast. 


33 


INGEBORG. 

Where  Skagen's  Gren  juts  far  into  the  sea 
And  Kattegat  is  rolling  in  the  lea 
Behind  the  Danish  plain;  where  Noekken  plays 
At  night  his  low,  disconsolate,  sweet  lays, 
Between  embracing  Seas  a  castle  stands, 
Early  the  home  of  chiefs  with  lawless  bands; 
Woergaard  its  name.  Above  the  portal's  arch 
In  shade  of  moss-grown  oak  and  stately  larch 
The  traveler  yet  may  read  her  husband's  name 
And  hers,  carved  in  the  gray-blue  granite  frame. 

The  fires  of  Hades  shone  with  lurid  glare 

Above  the  sooty  hell-walls  black  and  bare. 

The  iron  Doors,  the  parched  and  sweltering  Rocks 

Resounded  sighs  and  groans,  roused  at  the  knocks 

Of  Ingeborg's  bold  messenger  who  came 

To  find  her  husband  in  the  gloating  Flame. 

"Let  me,"  the  servant  spoke,"my  lord  behold; 

Above  on  earth  my  lady  has  been  told 

He's  of  the  damned.  I  must  receive  his  word 

To  tell  her  what  here  in  the  Deep  occurred." 

The  hump-backed  warden  hardly  deigned  to  speak, 
But  swung  ajar  the  door  with  grating  creak; 
Out  strode  the  suffering  Soul  with  bearing  proud, 
Smoke  circling  round  about  a  gloomy  cloud. 

"What,  man  of  Earth,  have  you  with  me  to  do; 
Is  not  to  know  I'm  here  enough  for  you?" 

"My  lady  sent  me.  She  desires  to  know 
How  fere  you  in  Perdition's  realm  below. 
Give  me  some  token  back  to  earth,  I  pray, 
To  prove  my  message;   nor  must  I  delay." 


36 


"Full  ill  must  every  soul  departed 

In  this  domain.   But  tell  her  to   beware. 

Yon  fire-eyed  keeper  said  e'en  yesterday 

Her  chair  is  all  but  finished.   Also  say 

Her  death   bell  yet  may  sound  a   peaceful  chime 

If  she  requite  our  spoils,   repent  her  crime. 

Now  as  a  token   take  this  little  thing, 

She  knows  it  well,   it   is  my   wedding  ring. 

And  when  you  tell  her  of  this  dreadful  place 

Say  I  implore  her  that  she  seek  God's  grace." 

Thus  spoke  the  Spirit  while  he  slowly  drew 

A  ring,   and  at  the  waiting  servant  threw 

Its  circling  gold.   As  swift  as  lightning  he 

The  hat  extended,   for  he  chanced  to  see 

The  ring  flame  hot  with  sulphurous  fumes  of  Hell; 

And  burning  through  his  hat  it  hissing  fell. 

Thence  quickly  sped  to  earth  the  messenger 
And  as  the  master's  ring  he  gave  to  her, 
Thus  spoke:   "My  lady,  here's  a  ring  of  gold; 
'Twas  hot  as  forging  iron,  now  scarce  cold." 

''  'Tis  true,   'Tis  true,   I  know  the  token  well; 
Speak  quickly,  speak  the  words  he  bade  you  tell." 

"My  lady,  you're  in  danger  of  the  doom, 

For  they,  below  in  Hell,  preparing  room 

For  you,  have  made  close  to  your  husband's  chair 

Your  own.   My  master  prays  that  you  beware." 

"Ha!  Nought  it  matters  if  below,  above; 
I  care  but  for  the  sweet  voice  of  my  love. 
If  Heaven  or  Hell,  it  is  the  same  to  me; 
Where  is  my  husband,  there  I,  too,  will  be." 


37 


THE  EARTH  AND  THE  MOON. 

From  bright  Aurora's  far  abyss  the  tide 
Rolled  with  the  coursing  Moon;    each  mighty  swell 
Of  waters  on  the  Earth's  great  breast  to  tell 
Her  constant  love.    Against  her  mighty  side 

Beat  hard  a  quivering  heart.  The  oceans  wide 
Expanded  as  she  sighed;  the  moon  beams  fell 
Full  on  her  bosom;  as  tones  of  a  bell 
That  fondly  tremble  round  a  blushing  bride. 

When  Jove  had  finished  the  sweet  virgin,   Earth, 
He  caught  the  sprightly  evening  Moon  as  he 
His  love  and  courtship  whispered  in  her  ears. 

Jove,  thundering,   banished  him  far  from  his  hearth. 
So  when  his  lovelorn  face  we  do  not  see 
?Tis  hidden  in  a  rain  of  streaming  tears. 


38 


ONLY. 

Only  a  look  from  a  lady  (air, 
But  her  sweet  soul  dwelt  in  her  eye; 
Snow  white  her  teeth  and  silken  her  hair, 
And  her  cheeks  with  the  red  rose  vie. 

Only  a  smile  from  a  lady  fair, 
But  its  meaning  came  to  me  plain. 
Bright  as  a  ray  it  fell;  would  she  care 
If  I  gave  her  a  smile  again? 

Only  a  touch  from  a  lady  fair, 

But  I  felt  her  quivering  hand; 

Unspoken  words  as  she  pressed  mine  there 

I  could  not  misunderstand. 

Only  a  kiss  from  a  lady  fair, 
But  her  heart  beat  warm  in  the  kiss; 
Held  me  in  rapture;  since  then  I  bear 
In  my  soul  only  heavenly  bliss. 

Only  the  love  from  a  lady  fair, 
But  it  lay  in  her  warm  embrace. 
Held  in  her  arms  I  tasted  Love's  rare 
Inexpressible  joys  and  grace. 


VOICES. 

Ghostly  shone  the  full  moon  on  the  weird,  haunted  sea? 
While  the  shuddering  Clouds  seemed  in  terror  to  flee. 
Said  the  child:  "Captain,  what  makes  the  waves  here 

so  red?" 
"  'Tis  the  blood  of  the  grim  Lusitania's  dead." 

Rose  the  mist  from  the  soil  on  the  Flandrian  plain; 
Child  and  mother  walked  blood-watered  field  paths 

again: 

"Mother,  what  makes  so  choking  the  air  and  the  sun?" 
"  'Tis  the  poisonous  breath  of  the  Vandal  and  Hun." 

Strangely  moaned  the  chill  Wind  in  the  mid-hour  of 

night 
Through  the  shell-shattered  trees.  Spoke  the  child  in 

affright: 
"Listen,  father!  These  sounds  are  of  anguish  and 

dread." 
"'Tis  the  curse  of  the  murdered;  the  voice  of  the  dead." 


4O 


DEATH. 

Art  thou  a  beast  of  prey  that  men  should  flee 
With  terror  stricken  face  from  thee  away; 
That  they  who  hear  thy  low  voiced  call  would  stay 
And  hide  as  frightened  fowl  'neath  bush  and  tree? 

They  pit  their  hope  'gainst  hope  they  may  not  see 
Thy  tranquil  face;  and  would  forever  lay 
On  Life  the  burden  of  eternal  day, 
Nor  pray  to  be  in  thy  repose  set  free. 

O  Death,  calm,  gentle  Death!  The  truest  boon 
To  all  the  pain-yoked  World.  Never  too  soon 
Thou  earnest,  whether  morn,  or  night,  or  noon. 

'Tie  blessedness  to  sleep  and  never  dream, 

Nor  suffer  e'en  a  transitory  gleam 

From  vistas  of  Life's  ever  shifting  stream. 


41 


YA  01644 


377448 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


